


We all Wear Masks

by Androids_in_Metropolis



Category: L'homme au masque de fer | The Man in the Iron Mask - All Media Types, The Man in the Iron Mask (1998)
Genre: AU ending, Alternate Ending, Brotherly Love, F/M, Fluff, France - Freeform, Happy AU, Historic, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, One Shot, Siblings, Twins, implied that philippe is gay, leonardo dicaprio - Freeform, love lost brother, movie, the man in the iron mask - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Androids_in_Metropolis/pseuds/Androids_in_Metropolis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis finds Philippe and his other half; An AU Happier, fluffier, ending to Man in the Iron Mask</p>
            </blockquote>





	We all Wear Masks

**Author's Note:**

> I have never done something quite like this before, so I would love some feedback if y'all have time.

Louis woke from a fitful sleep, his blond hair tangled around his face. His green eyes blinked sleepily up at the ceiling, his body shaking as a draft blew it’s way through the castle. He was fifteen years old on the day and had been ruling the country of France for the last five years. A nine year old is no leader, and he knew that. Now, a fifteen year old can make changes, a fifteen year old would know things that a nine year old couldn’t possibly comprehend. It was time to pick himself up, to understand, to get the country back on it’s feet. Paris was rioting, food was scarce, and dinner’s had to be planned. 

The first order of business would be to get the place cleaned up, and give orders on where, when, and how relief should be distributed among the people and the soldiers. The second would be to find a new bed mate-Christine Bellefort had long run on his nerves, her request for more than tentitive kisses and awkward teenage ceresses making Louis uncomfortable. She would go wherever she wished to go...but please, not with him any longer. 

The last, and most important order of business would be his birthday party that he had planned the day before and knew even then was being set up. It would be a masked ball, and then a dinner with just his closest friends and family. One night to not worry about anything for a while. 

Getting ready was a faster affair than usual, and then straight to his big desk where all his attendants were awaiting their orders. He had a relief plan in action by mid afternoon, and had already sent out a large team of his finest farmers and architects to get the city back in order. Rioting wouldn’t do...not then, and really, not ever. He was fifteen now, a man in his own right. He would have to get the city back in shape, and his people happy. He was truly King, a man who had children to care for-All the people of France.

It wasn’t long before he had also found a husband for Mademoiselle Bellefort and had seen them happily married, though truth be told, the young man seemed quite surprised at the sudden development though not unpleased. She had had little criteria, other than they must love her. Louis had assured her that any man would be happy, and lucky to love her, and any man but himself would be free to give that love. 

This was how nearly all of his bed mates went-Happily married, and already having children. They all left him somehow, whether it be by his request or theirs. He never took an interest in them as sexual objects beyond the normal teenage curiosity, and messily planted kisses given more as ‘thank yous’ than invitations. 

When no new girl readily appeared to him he braced himself for another sleepless night, and quickly went to prepare for the party the evening was to bring. He had a mask specially made, and his outfit had been chosen by his mother...why, he didn’t know. Before he knew it the darkness was descending on the fair palace of versailles, the ballroom was being filled and the chandeliers lit. 

The revelry lasted hours, during which time the young King let himself be immersed in the merry makers, telling no one his name and letting no one see his face. A King is easily apprehended at a party, but a dancer...a dancer could hide and drink and play with nothing of the royal formality in his way. 

As the ball drew to a close Louis let the mask fall from his face as he sent his guests away, sending well wishes and greetings to each and every person to pass him by as they filed out of the door and into the cool, autumnal night, to be sent home or to their rooms at the palace. The Court was soon dismissed and the room was left to the heavy breathing of the Musketeers, Queen Anne, the young King, and his best friend, Raoul. 

\-----------

“Your Majesty, dinner is served in the East Wing,” said a man servant that Louis didn’t care to remember the name of. It would have been pointless, anyway, with all the rotations the servants made. 

Louis nodded, taking his friend’s hand and his mother’s hand in his own and guiding them to the dining area. Sitting down at the table, Roul on his left and the Queen on his right. 

“May the Lord bless this food we are about to partake of,” Louis said, his hands folded together and his head bent forward in his devotion. Minutes passed as a silent prayer was offered up to some invisible deity that none of them could describe, even if they tried. Louis had been raised to know that They were looking down on him though-Looking down and protecting him and all other living things. His mother had taught him that, if nothing else. 

“Louis,” his mother started once they were well into the impeccably made meal. “I have a present for you, from your father,” she said, using her napkin to dab at her lips and nodding to a servant who brought a locked box forward with a little key. “He wanted you to have this when you turned fifteen, and were really growing into a man.” 

Louis’ eyes grew large as he looked on, wondering what it could be. He could hardly remember his father, and had never thought he had left anything for him but the Kingdom. He didn’t mean to sounds hurt, but it came out that way when he had voiced this pet sadness to Raoul earlier. The fact that he had left him a troubled land at the age of ten, and hadn’t thought to even leave him a letter explaining things. Now he knew something had been planned, it hurt even more-Why make him wait years without even a hint that something had been planned? That he had cared?

Queen Anne passed him the box, the little key coming after. Not even she, the former King’s closest confidant and friend knew what was in the little, locked box. She noted her son’s hands trembling as he took the box, and how his eyes watered. She wondered if she should have told him of the box sooner, but shook the thought away. This is what his father had wanted. 

Louis’ hands shook too badly to slip the tiny key in the intricate lock, and finally he had Raoul do it, cursing his feminine valor and ability to be shaken so easily. It was not in a King’s way to act like a little girl. 

 

Opening the box he saw it held nothing but another set of keys and a slip of paper. His hands trembled still as he took out the yellowed bit of parchment and smoothed it out on the table in front of himself. 

It read as follows:

To my Louis, now a man. 

I assume you are now 15, if my instructions have been carried out properly. I feel that this is the time for you to learn of a secret that not even your mother knows. I am afraid if I was in life she would be very upset with me at the news I have to bare. 

I am writing to tell you that I loved you, though I never said it. You were my favourite son-Before you roll your eyes and say you are my only son, I beg to differ; You were one of two, as your mother, the Queen knows. I am writing to tell you that the other half of you did not die, as your mother was told minutes after his birth, but was alive into his teens and I assume still is, just like yourself. 

He was your twin, and we called him Phillipe. He looked so like you I was forced to lock him away, so as not to alarm the people or cause ruckus in the court. I feel that you should know this. 

It had always been my intention to let him out and back into court, but sadly the likeness to yourself only grew with age, so much so that if I had no one would have been able to tell the difference, and surely you see why that would have been an issue. 

And so, my son, I give this knowledge to you to do with what you will. At fifteen you should be able to make decisions solid of mind and heart, and I trust in you the will to do the righteous thing, whatever that may be. 

You can find him in the Bastille-The Prisoner in the Iron Mask. 

With Love,   
Your Father, King of France  
R.I.P (for I know the time draws near)

\--------------------

Louis dropped the paper, standing quickly, throwing the box away from him as if he had been burned by the cool metal and smooth wood. He could hear someone yelling, and was shocked to find it was his own mouth that uttered the plaintive cry of ‘brother, brother, brother,’ as the pieces fell into place. They weren’t the only things falling though, it seemed, as he felt himself crumple to the hard floor of the East Wing as his family quickly gathered round him, forming a protective circle around their King. 

Louis felt his world go black, only seeing the face he often saw in his fitful dreams. It was his own, but not his. It was what kept him up at night. It was the face he had always wondered about. It was what made him hate being alone, what made him want to be loved so badly. The feeling was a sick feeling, it was a needy feeling. Even as he lost consciousness he knew he would have to send for his brother...his brother. 

\-------------------

 

Louis insisted that he would come to the Bastille with the search party to find his brother, though everyone knew he was also deathly afraid of such dark and enclosed places. He was known to hate to be shut anywhere, even in his own castle. Stealing himself for the challenge (a King cannot fear such a thing as his own prison) and gritting his teeth the boy King mounted his horse and prepared to raid his own jail. 

Queen Anne watched sadly from her window, her grey eyes laden with fear for not one son, but two. 

\------------------

“Bring me to the unlisted prisoner,” Louis ordered, his face stoney. His tone commanded, though his young voice cracked. “By order of the King,” he spat as the soldiers on duty failed to jump into action-Neither of the old, world worn men could recall the last time the King, or anyone of the royal family, had visited the Bastille for any reason, let alone to punish (they assumed) an unmarked prisoner. 

Of course, both men knew who the King spoke of. It was the boy (for he was nothing more) in the iron mask. Not allowed to speak of him, or to him, everyone of course knew who he was. Leading the way silently they showed the King and his royal party to the highest tower where they threw open the door and showed the sad sight to the newcomers. 

Louis blinked in surprise as he saw a prostrate figure on the ground, his build so much like his own, but broken from years of mistreatment. His head was unseen and his face was seemingly pressed into the floor. When the guard stood him up Louis gasped in disgust and surprise as he saw the hidden truth-The young man’s face was encased in a thick mask of metal, with thin slits for his eyes and mouth, both were tightly closed as if he expected someone to try and press some unwanted thing into one of the holes of his face. 

“Take your hands off him, please,” Louis barked, though he wished he hadn’t when the young man that had previously been supported crumbled weakly to his knees. Louis bent to his own knees, trying to forget about the dirt he wash sure coated the floor and the hands of the boy he held in his own. “Philippe,” he started, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

\------------------

 

Louis lay next to his brother, looking at the ceiling. It had been months since they had rescued Philippe from the Bastille, and still he was weak and meek. His long blond hair and pale face were virtually impossible to differentiate from Louis’ own. 

“Brother?” Philippe whispered, leaning closer to the aforementioned man. “Do you know me, really...did you know I was there?” His voice shook, and his eyes were watering. He almost hoped he had-Philippe had lived in fear of people not knowing he was there, not knowing he was alive at all. He could have disappeared, and no one but two guards who didn’t care would have known. Would they have even come to check if he was still there? Would they remember anything of him? 

“No,” Louis replied, shaking his head. He couldn’t guess what his brother wanted to hear, but based on the little cry his answer evoked it wasn’t what he had been wishing for. “Why?” he asked, turning on his side so he could see the identical eyes of his newest and dearest friend. 

“Nothing, it’s fine now. Just...know, I am here, aren’t I?” 

Louis nodded, drawing his brother close. 

“You’re here.” 

\---------------

Three years later both still remained in the palace, happily acting like children. Louis never felt alone again, and Philippe always knew he was real because Louis was always there to tell him so. Raoul found their antics funny, and even joined in some days, and the Kingdom of France gradually got better. 

As France healed Philippe would make art when he wasn’t with the other two young men-He would compose music so sad and lonely that no one could listen to it without losing a bit of themselves. He painted strange masks of iron, and scared faces. He drew rats stealing bread, and water dripping from useless masked lips. It was a scary kind of art, but everyone was also transfixed by it. Louis would have it hung, and framed, or sent to far distant lands until Philippe’s name was as well known as his own. The common people thought it strange and terrible and yet relatable-Everyone has been stuck in something at some point. It made them trust the royal family somewhat, to know that someone up there had been treated worse than they had. 

To Queen Anne having both her sons was a blessing. She didn’t worry about either of them. She didn’t tease them for not being married when the other courtiers had, or ask about the years they were apart and how it felt to be together again-She could tell. It was like finding all the missing pieces to a puzzle, or remembering the words to a song you had long forgotten.

D’Artagnan too was a blessed and happy man, finding the Queen was ready to be remarried with the young King’s blessing once she had found of her second son’s life. He was still captain of the Musketeers, leading the endeavor to keep the King and his wily brother under control. It was a harder task then he made it seem. 

Raoul was soon married to the woman he loved, and soon too Louis thought of marrying. Philippe on the other hand was content to stay on his own, not sure he could ever give anyone the love they would deserve. He was still learning to love himself. Louis was infatuated with a palace maid, and soon made her his wife, and that was the end of that happy story. 

There was however, one more ending to another story, which must be shared-The happy ending of the two brothers. 

Even once one was married and ruling the country, and the other was hidden away drawing, writing, and composing, they found time for each other. Never a day went by when their echoing laughs didn’t float down the palace halls, making every maid and master alike smile with second hand joy. 

And so end the happy tale of two brothers with a hopeless beginnings.


End file.
